


(most strange things do)

by thedevilchicken



Category: His Face All Red (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Experimental Style, Incest, M/M, Monsters, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken





	(most strange things do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venomspitting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomspitting/gifts).



He says, "I wondered when you'd come."

I wish I hadn't. 

(he should be dead)

He says, "I thought you'd never understand."

I don't. 

(because, that night, I killed him)

He says, "Why are you frightened?"

I say, "I'm not." 

(just like before, I lie)

But in the woods at night I'm always frightened. That's something my brother knows. That's why we left them, long ago.

When he sits up, I see that his fine coat is torn. When he stands up, I see his mossy vest is covered up in a dust of earth. My brother's hands are broad and strong. He brushes the dust off. He could brush me off, too. 

"I'll be better soon," he says. "You'll see. Don't worry."

And when he puts his arms around me, his blood smells just like lilacs do. It smells like home. Our old one, not the one we've made.

When we were just boys, we came from the woods. 

(most strange things do)

The townsfolk took us in. They made us both feel welcome. They didn't mind that we had no names, because they gave us some to make our own. 

Mine is plain. Mine is normal, just like theirs are, like I was always there.

(my brother's isn't; he was never normal)

At first I was their favourite; I was just like them, while my brother pined for somewhere else. But then he grew the lilac bush outside the house he built. He grew the hawthorn tree so it was just like home. He blossomed just like they did.

My brother has a way with people that makes them trust him. They don't know why, but I do. That came from somewhere else with him.

His arms are tight. He pulls at my clothes, to find my skin beneath them. 

(I let him; oh, I let him)

He pushes me down. I can barely breathe. Terror rises in me. 

(like he does; oh, like he does)

I love my brother. He is brave and good and handsome, and is everything I'm not. But he never really left the woods, not like I did, long ago. And I won't go back again, not ever. Not even for him.

My brother loves me, or at least he says he does. His skin tastes like lilacs buried in the earth. His mouth is cold but I know I can warm it, just like I always did, and always do. 

I gasp. He shudders. I hold him close. 

"Let me help you dig," I say. "We can finish it together. I'll stay with you sometimes, if you like."

My brother smiles. His handsome face is flushed and pink, not bloody. There is no fabric torn from his fine coat. Not now, not any longer; my brother lives.

That night in the woods, the wolf was not the only monster. The fact is, we just wear sheeps' clothing.

And next time we go back into the woods, I know I must try harder.


End file.
